


Chai and Summer Leaves

by snugglechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, i listened to jazz once and then i wrote it in a fic, i wrote this 2 yrs ago so forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9115945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglechesters/pseuds/snugglechesters
Summary: A loud slurping sound startled Castiel from his concentration on his religious studies book. It was one of his more difficult textbooks, and considering his major, a good grade in the class was crucial; in other words, Cas was kind of pissed at the interruption.He twisted his head slowly to the side, making sure his expression demonstrated just exactly how he felt about this person’s drinking habits.His expression dropped, though, when he actually saw who had produced said noise. A guy. A hot guy to be exact. Actually more like scorching hot, molten lava hot, surface of the sun hot





	

            “Chai for Cas!”

            Castiel looked up from stuffing his wallet in his backpack and surged through the crowd to grab the fat purple mug sitting on the counter. He smiled at the barista and said a quick but sincere “Thank you” as he wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. The man shot him a grin as he turned back to start the next order.

            Almost tripping over multiple customers’ feet as he walked by, Castiel made his way to the back of the cafe to the staircase. The upper level was always much quieter than the downstairs late-afternoon rush of students at What The Cup? Café. Cas firmly believed that the store’s name was dreamt up by some stoner thirty seconds before he signed the lease for the place, but they made damn good drinks, and that’s all he cared about.

            The upstairs room was a cozy area filled with cushy couches and armchairs, peppered here and there with some tables and regular wooden chairs for studying. There were a few people chatting, but the quiet hum of voices was always easy enough to tune out. Settling at a table by the far wall, Cas quickly unpacked his books, fanning it all out in front of him. It being quieter away from the holler of the baristas, he could finally hear the soft music being playing throughout the store and he rolled his eyes. _Rufus Wainwright_. Cas could admit it was calming music, and that the guy _did_ have a pretty nice voice, but he always came off as such a _douche_.

            Castiel put the thought out of his mind, clicked his pen up, and got to work.

 

* * *

 

            A loud slurping sound startled Castiel from his concentration on his religious studies book. It was one of his more difficult textbooks, and considering his major, a good grade in the class was crucial; in other words, Cas was kind of pissed at the interruption. He looked blankly at the wall and twisted his mouth, trying to will himself to ignore it. He ran his hands through his hair, only contributing to the massive bedhead he was already rocking, and blew out a breath.

The slurping came again. _Yeah, that’s gotta stop._

He twisted his head slowly to the side, making sure his expression demonstrated just exactly how he felt about this person’s drinking habits.

            His expression dropped, though, when he actually saw who had produced said noise. A guy. A _hot_ guy to be exact. Actually more like scorching hot, molten lava hot, surface of the sun hot. Alright, maybe Cas was being a little dramatic, but _damn._ He looked fairly tall, maybe just a few inches taller than Cas himself, with long legs and toned arms. He was wearing a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans that stopped just below hiking-type boots. His hair was styled up in a casual disarray and light brown, _dirty blonde_ thought Cas. _Emphasis on “dirty”._ He had delicate features, but a strong brow and a jaw line that could probably cut someone’s throat. And freckles. Goddamn, this guy had it all.

            This in-depth categorization of the guy’s looks took place within milliseconds, and Castiel was quickly regretting looking over because now the guy was turning his head too. As their eyes met, the other man’s widening in curiosity and surprise from Castiel’s attention, Cas noticed that his eyes just happened to be the exact color of sunshine through summer leaves. And that Rufus Wainwright was douchily warbling out “Hallelujah” like this was some clichéd romantic comedy film. _Are you fucking kidding me?_

            “Sorry, man, am I being obnoxious? Coffee’s hot, didn’t mean to interrupt your whole…studying zone thing” he waved his hand towards Cas vaguely.

He saw the guy give him a once-over, licking his lips, which was all a manner of sexy. He couldn’t decide if he felt triumph that maybe the guy found him hot too, or worry that he just looked like a nerd zombie. He himself was sporting black skinny jeans, a loose blue-striped woolen sweater, and his black-framed glasses.

            “No, ah, no, it’s completely fine,” Castiel stuttered. “I mean, yes, you did interrupt me, but obviously you didn’t mean to…so…” he trailed off, tapping his pen on his notebook nervously.

            “Good.” The guy huffed a quiet laugh, then just continued smiling, keeping eye contact. Castiel couldn’t look away, though he felt like staring this long should probably feel uncomfortable.

            “I’ll let you get back to it, then,” the guy said quietly, and after a moment, he turned back to the battered novel he had been reading, smile still playing around his lips.

            Castiel couldn’t respond and he quickly turned back to his textbook, head down, heart racing. _Calm down_ , he though to himself. _You have to get this done. Just ignore him, he’s studying too. He was just making polite conversation, no need to freak out._ He let his eyes travel back to the words on the page, but now he couldn’t remember where’d he’d left off, and what was he even reading about again? What if Freckles was staring at him again and hey, when did he decide to give the dude a nickname? They’d talked for a minute, at most. Cas sighed wearily.

            Just then, the music changed. Apparently the Wainwright CD had ended, thank God. But what started up instead had Cas stupidly blushing. It was a quiet, jazzy, piano tune: “Everything Depends On You” by Chet Baker. Castiel recognized it because his father had loved jazz, and played his records on Sunday nights while he read by the fire. It was blatantly slow, romantic, sultry, and it made his ears burn. Not being able to help himself, he tilted his head to the left, peeking at Freckles out of the corner of his eyes. Yep, still there. Still hot. Cas saw green eyes flicker over to him and whipped back around.

_Oh, yes, that was so subtle, Castiel. Good job._

The truth was that Castiel had always had this fantasy of exchanging slow kisses to this exact song, sharing breaths, exploring bodies, and having delicious, unhurried sex to the tune of a lazy piano. Another truth was that Freckles would be a perfect candidate to fill that position. ( _Pun intended? Very.)_ Sadly, a final truth was that Castiel had never actually had sex. At all. Ever. He was a sophomore in college, 19 years old, and had never really had the opportunity. He supposed he _could have_ gone out and looked for one, but he wasn’t really the “party” type. He was more the “Study all the time, always busy, only ever _think_ about having hot sex with attractive guys but never actually talk to them” type.

But of course Castiel wanted to, _oh_ , how he wanted to.

The piano continued to play softly in the background, and Castiel let his mind drift to images of green eyes and strong hands and pink lips whispering his name. This train of thought was probably not exactly appropriate considering the muse of these fantasies was lounging just a few feet away. Also considering that fact that it made Castiel feel a little too warm in the small room.

His neck burned and he had a strong feeling that Freckles was looking at him again, possibly licking his lips. Against his better judgment, he turned his head, slowly, to meet green eyes peeking over the edge of a book. Freckles didn’t say anything, just stared, and Cas stared back. Castiel’s eyes flickered momentarily around the room, noticing for the first time that it was completely empty, save himself and the other man. By the time he looked back, Freckles had put down his book and was gathering his things.

_Shit_. Cas looked back at his book, hiding his eyes. Had he made the guy uncomfortable? He had looked first, but Cas still felt responsible for some reason.

The next thing he knew, there was a figure standing opposite him, and the warm, musky smell of leather and espresso. Cas looked up in surprise; it was Freckles, and he looked even better close up and in person, eyes once again meeting his easily.

“Hey.”

A moment passed, and Castiel realized he was waiting for a response. “Uh, hi?” he mustered weakly.

Freckles’ mouth twisted in humor, as if he was trying to hide a smile. “I know you’re busy, but…I was wondering if I could sit with you for a while?” His tone was hopeful, and Castiel noticed that the other man looked a little nervous too, which of course was ridiculous, but also hopelessly endearing.

He suddenly realized that this guy was putting himself out there, and that he had all the power in this situation. He could say no. After all, he _did_ have work to do.

Castiel gave a small smile. “Of course,” he replied. _Fuck homework._

“Thanks. I’m Dean,” the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. “Dean Winchester.”

Cas looked down at the hand, also dusted with freckles. He took it, smiling, and shook once. Dean’s hand was strong and rough, but there was a gentleness in the way he held onto Cas’ hand for a bit longer than necessary before letting go. “Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. Or…just Cas, if you prefer. Though most people call me by my full name—” he cut himself off, embarrassed by his rambling.

Dean just nodded a little, as though to himself, those green eyes never leaving his, and he whispered, “Cas, then.”

And as he set his bag down, Castiel decided he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Dean Winchester sliding into the seat across from him, his easy smile reflected in eyes the color of summer leaves.


End file.
